


Endless Ruin

by OldMouse



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Child Abandonment, Child Neglect, Depression, Family Fluff, Han Lives, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury Recovery, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romantic Friendship, Self-Hatred, Serious Injuries, Violence, anger issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-11 23:11:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5645296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldMouse/pseuds/OldMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the ground split between him and the girl, Kylo Ren expected to die, instead he finds himself shackled to the grating of the millennium falcon with his father and the girl, staring with twin glares. Just like how he didn't expect to end up in a, rather comfortable, cell at the Resistance's base with Luke Skywalker siting outside the door.<br/>-<br/>In which Luke is still a child at heart, Han misses his best friends, Kylo Ren is pissed off, and Finn is just in awe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> My only experience in writing is technical term papers and I can't spell, beware. Apologies for all mistakes.

When the ground split between him and the girl, Kylo Ren expected to die, instead he found himself shackled to the grating of the millennium falcon with Han Solo and the girl glaring back. They probably hadn’t stopped glaring even after he closed his eyes, though she retreated slightly to sit with the injured stormtrooper. Maybe they even continued after he passed out, or maybe not, considering they both needed medical attention.

He also hadn’t expected to end up in a cell in the Resistance's base with Luke Skywalker siting outside the door. “Han’s going to be fine,” Luke told him solemnly, the barest hint of anger in his voice, beneath a sea of gloom. Kylo barely managed to process the words and the flash of relief they brought before he passed out again.

—

The bed they had given him was surprisingly comfortable, he noted as he stared at the ceiling. Even the concrete walls had a nice blue tinge to them to offset the grey. All in all the room was rather nice as far as cells went. Probably nicer than the old bent metal chair Luke Skywalker had scrounged up to camp on outside the cell door. He could just sense the older man’s discomfort under the endless serenity.

Neither his mother nor father had shown their faces, though Chewbacca had come by a few times with food and a second chair, just to sit and talk to Luke until the Jedi idly pointed out that Han was looking for him. The third time he came he brought a cloth camping chair and left it behind. “You’re not very subtle,” Luke called after him as he opened the door to the cell.

On the other hand the food was disgusting, grey and to watery to be porridge, but to gloopy to be soup. He took the proffered bowl with one hand, balancing it on his knee and staring down. “It looks worse than yesterday,” Kylo Ren commented dully.

“It’s the same as yesterday. It could have been worse,” Luke pointed out sagely. “I’ve had worse.” The he stepped back out the door and sagged into the chair Chewie had brought.

He used the force to hold the bowl steady on his leg as he ate quickly, trying to ignore the papery taste. Luke’s presence expanded for a split second before relaxing once more. Han and the girl had dragged the older Jedi halfway across the universe to keep an eye on their prisoner, though in his current state Rey could have done it alone. Where she had jumped and grasped her lightsaber every time he reached for the force, Luke only glanced at what he was doing and when back to meditating or whatever else he could find to entertain himself. Eventually Chewie brought him a datapad that seemed to keep the Jedi entertained. The next time the Wookie showed, he brought Kylo one filled with books and little else. Chewie handed it over silently, but untroubled.

He jumped slightly when Luke snapped from his half-asleep daze to rapt attention, and a moment later he sensed why. General Organa walked quickly, frazzled and rushed and truly exhausted. “Leia,” Luke greeted, standing to hug her tightly. He had mentioned once, when Kylo finally worked up the nerve to ask, that he hadn’t spoke to her once since he reached the base. “You need sleep.”

“And you need to trim that beard, scruffy,” she shot back. Her voice quieted and Kylo had to strain his ears and the manacles to make out their voices, but he could understand nothing. Chewie and Luke must have been speaking deliberately loud he noted. “I just don’t know…,” he caught after a moment. And then later a sigh followed by, “I do, just out of the way, away from people.” This time when the door opened it was his General Organa’s tight smile looking up at him. “How are you feeling, Ben?” she asked carefully.

After a beat he answered, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does,” she insisted, but let the question drop. She reached forward slowly, telling him cautiously, “I’m going to take these off.” He felt like a wild animal at the treatment, and his irritation only grew at Luke’s amused presence.

“Fine.”

The metal fell to the floor with a clatter that made her jump; wide, bloodshot eyes snapped to his face. He felt the childlike nervousness on his face, but try as he might it wouldn’t fade. With one more smile, far easier and happier, she touched his shoulder briefly and then vanished back of to her command. Luke plopped his horrid metal chair loudly in one corner of the room. “You can have it.” Half his mouth curled into a grin before he vanished back to the hall. The door swung closed, but the clang of the lock never came.

—

Kylo wanted desperately to sneak out, every waking moment he waited for his sentinel to sleep, but Luke never did. Eventually, Luke opened the door with an exasperated expression and left it standing wide. “The unlocked door was an invitation not an oversight,” he pointed out. So Kylo ventured out. He expected Luke to watch him like a hawk, but instead he folded his arms in his sleeves and closed his eyes. “Don’t go too far, Kylo,” he warned, but it sounded more like a request than an order. Wandering the empty cells and halls left his unused muscles aching and weak, forcing him to sink down against the floor, back to the cold concrete, twice before he managed to track Luke’s presence back to his cell.

“Get some sleep,” the Jedi told him with an appraising look.

“How long have I been here?”

“Almost a month.” He turned his back on the Jedi—his uncle—and slammed the door behind him. Sleep took over as soon as he lay down, careless of the sun still burning high above. Nightmares swept in like a flood.

—

_He was standing slouched on the walkway, staring at his father with the barest hint of tears at the creases of his eyes. Han reached out, mouth moving around familiar words, but making no sound. Ben reached back, wanting to take the hand and wanting to shove it away at the same time. He hated the man in front of him; for abandoning him and for the way he had always stared, as though he were afraid that Ben would turn into Vader at any moment._

_Slowly he steadied and controlled his hand, reaching for the greying man, so much older than he remembered—it had been so long, almost all his life. Something cold pressed into his palm as his fingers clenched and the red blade was extending, slower than he’d ever seen it, and burning right into his father’s heart. There was still fear in his face, but his eyes held only love. Too little, too late, crossed the sith’s mind as he wrenched the saber free. “I’m so sorry,” Han murmured as the sith’s fingers shoved just enough to send him tumbling into the endless shadows bellow._

_—_

They receded in the blink of any eye leaving his body feeling empty and his skin icy and slick. Awareness came in a rush, but it took him long moments full of hitching breaths to realize that the presence just outside his door had changed. Luke’s calming, but playful nature, replaced with overwhelming fear and distaste. “We shouldn’t be here,” one voice whispered, so loudly, he would have heard it even if the door wasn’t still half an inch open. That was the storm trooper, he managed to put the voice to a memory after a sluggish moment.

“I’m not letting him sit here without supervision,” a second voice added, just as panicked as the first. The force sensitive girl, he put a second face to the voices.

“Fine,” the stormtrooper hissed. He’d never had the will to fight her in the first place, Kylo noted vaguely, slipping slowly to a more restless sleep. Then a moment later, “What the hell? The door’s open.” Her awareness skyrocketed, and Kylo felt her unconsciously prodding at the edge of his mind, but he was too tired to care. The sound of the door closing and locking was just audible as he slipped back under.

—

_This time he stood among the smoldering piles that were once a village, staring at their cowering occupancy. “Where is the map to Luke Skywalker?” It didn’t patter if these wretches knew their goals, not one would survive the encounter. “Tell me,” he ordered, hand constricting on air as an old man coked before his fellows. They knew nothing, he was certain, but Hux, ever the pompous bastard was watching over his shoulder. He liked then way the general unconsciously took a half step back when the sith’s violence escalated. One snapped neck and the man was returning to his ship with some scathing remark that Kylo Ren neither heard nor acknowledged._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to update once a week, but school never seemes to go that smoothly.  
> Critique welcome. It's been years since I read the books and saw the movies, so I apologize for cannon mistakes, they will happen.  
> I know he's not technically a sith, but the knights of ren are close enough that I'm going to call him that anyway. Sorry.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn wakes up after Starkiller Base.

Rey watched Finn carefully, every moment his eyes stayed closed she grew more anxious, only the wavering presence she could make out at the fringes of her senses assuring her he wouldn’t slip back to the coma that had clung to him tooth and nail for a month. Even with pure adrenaline injected into his heart and some viscous blue fluid, that they assured could wake even dead men, into his carotid artery, there had been only the flicker of his eyelid to suggest life.

Almost a month had passed, with General Organa kindly and Poe loudly, dragging her away. She had been inspecting the greenhouses with the General when Poe had appeared sweaty and with gleaming eyes. “Why don’t weren’t you answering?” he heaved, looking between them curiously.

Rey stared back in confusion until the Leia spoke, “Most signals don’t pass through the mirrors and glass and all the other materials around,” she waved an expansive hand about the green house. “What can we do for you Mr. Dameron?”

He shook away the slightly puzzled look, and turned his attention solely to Rey. “He’s waking up, you should go. They said it’d be a few hours, but they aren’t sure.” He had to yell at her retreating back but even so the door nearly cut his last word short. It took three minutes rather than the usual twelve to reach they medical unit. Late Poe explained that General Organa wished her to be more careful, but that she would apologize to the people Rey had bundled over on the young Jedi’s behalf.

She waited hours with one hand on the outermost edge of the bed and Finn woke for a minute, just long enough to blink dumbly at her, frown, and go back to sleep. Poe hovered in the background, wanting to be beside their friend. He was nice and so obviously concerned that she turned to look at him and reached out to pull a chair up beside her. The pilot had told her briefly about the crashed tie fighter, adding a bit more depth to the story Finn had blurted out in choppy sentences about being a stormtrooper and then not. But he left most of the tale for the younger man to relate.

After an hour he left the chair vacant only to reappear accompanied by Chewie just as Finn began to stir again. “Luke,” he shrugged. That jaunt into wakefulness had lasted longer, he had even formed a few of coherent words that made no sense when put together. After that it had become the slow matter of replenishing his bodies energy and constantly warning him not to strain the fresh skin patching the wound along his spine.

Poe came back once to congratulate Finn on a slew of things, top of which was how fast he was healing. He was wearing worn grey clothes and streaked head to toe with dirt and oil. One of the nurses actually shrieked at him, chasing the laughing pilot from the infirmary, waving an armful of blankets at his back. After that Han came once; snarked something, hovered for a moment, and then left. BB-8 was the only steady companion, though he spent a fair amount of time dark and silent. Eventually the staff took to gently rolling him partially under the bed so he wouldn’t be in the way of their comings and goings.

A week after rising from his coma Finn was, upon endless and admittedly petulant whining, placed into a wheel chair and allowed free reign under two conditions. He had to be pushed everywhere, which he insisted was pointless. And he wasn’t allowed up or down stares, which was too reasonable for him to find fault in. They explored about, Rey pushing Finn to see all the sights a little to briskly, but he seemed to enjoy they whizzed to and fro.

Eventually Finn’s curiosity led them to the hanger, bursting with ships and bustling with too many people. They circumnavigated the crowd and found themselves standing in front of a beaten millennium falcon. Finn’s shaky hand descended on her’s just before she pushed him up the ramp. “Rey?”

“Yeah?” she asked gruffly, eyes staring straight ahead.

“I’m sorry…about what happened on Takodana. I didn’t want to leave…. I mean, I did but….” He took a deep breath, smothered the wince it brought, and forged onwards. “You. I didn’t want to leave you. I’m sorry I did.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said briskly still not looking down.

“No,” he said sharply and she looked down in surprise. Wide and painfully earnest brown eyes stared up as he twisted to stare at her face. “It matters. I shouldn’t have done that, and I just want to say, I’ll never do it again. I’ll always be there for you, no matter what, I promise.”

A warm smile spread over her face, curling muscles she hadn’t used much in years. “Heal up first, then we’ll talk. And for the record, it really doesn’t matter to me.” She turned her hand palm up to squeeze Finn’s trembling fingers before grasping the wheelchair firmly and shoving him up the ramp with all her strength. The rush she had felt practically since she met BB-8 on Jakku finally melted away. Relaxing was nice she realized.

—

They spent hours talking to Han and Chewie, sometimes listening to them bicker over how best to repair the navigation systems and other times listening to Han’s rather exaggerated tales of how they had single handedly stole and sold some of the most precious artifacts in the galaxy. The wookiee rolled his eyes every chance he got, while Rey slouched against the walls, and Finn listened with awe. The smuggler was a rather good storyteller she acknowledged at length.

He was just starting another story when his comlink tweeted, because there was no other word for the sound it made. He popped out of the flooring immediately, knocking half his tools across the floor, and didn’t bat an eye. “Luke made some of that nasty soup again,” the distorted and disgruntled voice crackled from the device. “I’m not suffering alone. Stop avoiding this.” Then it cut to silence.

The smuggler rolled his eyes. “My wife summons me,” he stated airily, spreading his arms in a half bow to the silent comlink. “I’ll see you kids later. Unless Luke’s food kills me….”

“Can I meet him?” Finn asked quietly.

“Who?”

“Mister Skywalker.”

“Oh Luke. Yeah, sure. He’s been watching Ren for a while now, so I haven’t seen him much.”

“He’s not watching Ren, he’s making soup,” Finn pointed out in a sudden bout of awareness.

In a beat her face morphed through shock into nervous anger. “He’s so…so… irresponsible,” she finally decided. “Come on.” Without waiting for a response she was wheeling him back out into the throng of crafts and people and into an unexplored part of the base. Chewie called something after them, probably a farewell, though both still had trouble understanding him. She continued to mutter under her breath, but took the moments to answer Finn’s eager questions as the navigated the base.

The mass of people thinned quickly and then they were alone, walking down a concrete hallway with a single window and doors every few steps. Most were open, revealing metal framed beds with bare mattresses or empty space enclosed in perfectly square walls. “Rey, where are we?” he ventured.

Rey pursed her lips, walking a little faster. “Prison.” He didn’t ask any more questions. They stopped. There was a closed door, and beside it a solitary chair. Anger and hatred suffused suffused the air, making Finn’s skin crawl.

“Rey,” he hissed, horrified. “Is he in there?”

“Yes,” she growled, dragging the chair closer to the door with an awful noise and wheeling Finn to sit on the opposite side. She flopped down between him and the door, a look of hate sitting unnaturally on her smooth features.

“We shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not letting him sit here without supervision,” she snapped glancing nervously towards the door and then snapping her attention to the opposite wall.

He leaned forward slightly to peak around her at the door. The only thing separating them from a man whom he had watched slaughter in cold blood and who had sliced his back open with a kid of glee that made Finn sick to his stomach. If he had looked a moment less he might have missed the dark line at the edge and the slight tilt of the door. “What the hell? It’s open.”

Rey’s hand, he hadn’t noticed it take his own, turned vice like. “Rey,” he breathed, and she glanced back with huge round eyes, apology brimming over before she could say it aloud. Her urgency won out quickly and she darted up to slam the door shut and reset the lock. Caught somewhere between a desperate need to run and remaining guilt she sat beside him again, staring at his hand. So he reached over and took hers in the surest grip he could manage. That earned him a smile that he returned unconsciously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much trouble keeping tech and terms from all the different scifi series separate. Oh well.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo Ren finally interacts with people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally saw the movie, hopefully that'll help with characterization.

Dreams had always left him incredibly groggy, driving his heartbeat in spirals of rest and panic as the vividness fooled his sleeping brain. While nightmares left him simply exhausted, feeling as though he hadn’t slept at all. With the First Order he had grown used to waking to the droning, pointless thoughts of soldiers that all thought the same things. Afterwards he had steadily accepted waking to his old master’s presence hazily drifting around outside. This time there was nothing, even when he reached out farther he felt no movement, no life more that a few tiny animals.

Slowly he rose, every vertebra cracking and straightening. Luke had seen fit to stop locking him back to the cot after he had wandered back for a second time when he was set free. He pushed the door wide, peered up and down the corridor, and then shut it as quietly as he could behind himself. There was a surprisingly novel feeling of freedom to know that Luke wasn’t tracking his every move with the force, or even simply sitting, waiting for him to return. So he left the detention area behind, wandering along the most deserted hallways, and fading into the shadows of doorways when people approached.

Even after years of refusing to acknowledge their existence. Years of never sparring them a thought. With only a few sparse minutes of contact since he was captured. He recognized his parents’ presence. His mother was truly the twin to her brother, a near replica of his Force presence, only fuzzier and less controlled. On the other hand Han was barely there, unaware of the way the Force curved around him smoothly.

Leia was sensitive, but when he masked his presence, curling tighter into himself, even she wouldn’t notice him. So he slunk along the walls until he came upon sad, dusty room, filled to bursting with outdated tech and cracked screens. “I just can’t trust him like Luke does,” Leia said sadly. “I want to believe someday I will, but right now I just can’t.” She reached out a hand, fingers caressing the cloth over the burn Kylo’s lightsaber had left behind when it sliced just past his father’s side.

“He didn’t hurt me, Leia, not really,” Han told her in a soft voice few observed. “I don’t think he could have.”

“He tried.” There were tears in her voice.

“No,” he said surely. “No.” He pulled her to his chest, resting his chin on her crown. “He could have, so easily, but he didn’t. Ben didn’t want to hurt me, he just felt he had to.”

“Haven’t you heard?” she asked thickly through her tears. “He isn’t Ben anymore. Kylo Ren. It’s all he wants to be called.” Han said nothing in return, rubbing her back slowly. “I’ll try, but I don’t think I can forgive him.” Flat against the wall, Kylo cursed the hard surface, unable to swallow him up or take their voices. Every breath he pulled in seeped painfully though his constricting throat.

In a daze, he retraced his steps slowly, the sound of her voice echoing meaninglessly around his skull. He wanted to be alone, to curl up on the bed that was practically his only possession. Luke’s voice cut across him, concerned and tired. “Are you alright?” For a moment Kylo desperately wanted to be alone, wishing the older Jedi would grow tired of waiting out his silence and leave. He flinched slightly at the sound of wood scraping stone when the other man stood. Instead of walking away his grey-bearded face bobbed into view. He looked older than Kylo remembered, but he hadn’t seen the man in years, had even gone so far as to avoid eye contact even when they spoke.

One hand raise, long fingers splayed over Luke’s grey robe, ready to push him away, but I garnered to reaction. If anything, it earned him a slight smile. When Luke raised a solitary had to his shoulder and squeezed lightly he let his hands drop listlessly. “Are you alright?” he repeated.

“She hates me.”

He didn’t have to ask, knowing instantly who the younger spoke of. “She’s sad, and angry with you, true, but she doesn’t hate you.” Then a small grin spread over his face, all knowing, “And because I know you’re thinking it, let me clarify that I don’t hate you either.”

“But you’re mad at me too.” It was a statement.

“I was, probably more than Leia, and I had a good reason to be.” Kylo began to pull back but Luke didn’t release him, fingers digging into his shoulder slightly. “I’ve had a long time to think and remember, I’m not angry, just sad. I’ll forgive you, I’m certain, it’ll just take a while.” Once more he pulled Kylo back when the younger tried to walk away. “Leia will too, it’ll might take a while longer, but she will. I think, though you’d have to ask him yourself, that Han already has.”

Luke made a startled noise when gangly limbs wrapped around him and pulled him into a crushing hug. After a beat he hugged his nephew back, though his arms were loose. He practically bolted back into his cell. “Leave the door open,” Luke said, a suggestion not a request. It remained half open, and he could just see Luke’s feet out of the gap when he sat on the bed, back to the ice cold wall.

—

_At some point he must have fallen asleep, and though the nightmares came they quickly lulled. Taking him from a snow covered world to a watery one with large glassy waves crashing on sandy beaches studded with palm trees and small bushy reddish tree he didn’t recognize. He dug his bare feet into the cool wet sand, wrapping his arms around himself. He was glad to have a calm, quiet dream for the first time in weeks, but he couldn’t help himself cursing the cold under his breath._

_Watching the waves lulled his mind into a haze, and he stared until the sun set, turning the water pink with a hit of yellow. Then the light was gone, but the overwhelming dark never came, instead two giant moons, one glowing white and the other was blue ocean broken by green land and white swaths of cloud. Behind them the stars seemed dull, their reflections all but invisible on the silver water. Still he stood unmoving, tranquil and always teetering on the brink of letting tears trickle down his face. Instead he blinked them away. The dream lasted until the sunlight was just beginning to suffuse the sky once more._

—

He woke up to voices again. He peeked around the door, listening to Luke everything wrong with his x-wing. The stormtrooper was back, looking happy and healthy despite the wheelchair. Beside him stood the pilot from Jakku, not as dead as he should have been. He was gesticulating wildly, trying to explain that the ship wasn’t salvageable and that Luke should just accept a new one. Eventually he relented, “I can salvage pieces of the old one, maybe even some of the weapons systems, but they’ll have to be on a new ship.”

“You’ll still have R2D2,” Finn pointed out.

“And the new ships are a helluva lot nicer,” the pilot said bluntly.

“Poe,” Finn squawked, scandalized.

“Well, it’s true. I get why you like you’re old ship Mr. Skywalker, but it’s really not worth the trouble you’re going to.”

“We could always…,” he cut off hen he finally caught sight of Kylo Ren, dressed head to toe in black, looming in the doorway with a blank stare. The other two turned to look at him a moment later. Luke smiled slightly while Poe stared curiously.

“My nephew, Ben,” Luke introduced him.

With a frown Finn looked up at the Jedi, opening his mouth to say something. Discreetly, Luke squeezed the young man’s arm and shook his head. Finn turned wide eyes back to Kylo, watching nervously and jumping at every movement the tall man made. “Hey,” Poe greeted. Then he was back to trying to explain to Luke the benefits of the T-70. “What do you think?” Poe asked and it took Kylo a moment to realize the other was addressing him.

“I like the T-70,” he answered awkwardly.

“See, he’s reasonable. You should listen to your nephew. I could always convince General Organa to permanently ground that deathtrap of yours.”

Luke laughed, “She wouldn’t.”

“Bet she would if I asked. I’m going to try.” He grinned wickedly. “Bye Ben, nice meeting you,” he called, waving as he pushed the ex-stormtrooper down the hall so fast he started yelling at the pilot.

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“Hm?” Luke stared at him, fully aware of what the question meant.

“Why didn’t you tell him who I was?”

“Did you really want me to?”

He thought for a moment. “No.”

“Well that’s why then.”

“Shouldn’t he know though? I did torture him and I was going to kill him once we found the droid.”

“Then tell him.”

“I…,” he couldn’t say he would, that would be a lie. He knew the man deserved to know, but he wasn’t sure he could deal with another person hating him.

“You probably won’t have to, he’s smart enough to figure it out eventually, and if he doesn’t Rey’ll surely tell him.”

“Alright.” After that he dragged the second chair back outside and sat and arm’s length away from Luke against the wall.

—

It turned out Luke had been right. Poe Dameron never returned, instead it was Rey who came to talk about the x-wing. She was the go between who wasn’t always sure what she was relaying. Her vast knowledge of the general systems of many ships, didn’t help her with the specifics of the x-wings, especially the highly modified one that they seemed to be constructing for Luke. Apparently Leia had indeed grounded the old, beaten starfighter.

After a while Luke gave up with that and went to the hanger himself, dragging Rey along despite he protestation that Kylo Red shouldn’t be left alone with an open door. What if he escaped? “He’s had free reign for a couple weeks,” he caught just as they turned out of sight. Rey squawked at that. He mused that, under different circumstances, her brashness and bluntness would have been very refreshing parts of her personality.

—

Kylo hated to admit that he was lost, and there was no way he was going to ask someone for directions. As it were, he had completely avoided notice, carefully slipping into the shadows and redirecting attention as best he could when someone started to notice him. Slowly the amount of people lessened, the rare clocks on the walls burned a bright blue 00:40 in the darkening hallways. Eventually the lights turned out completely,, only the rare open door lighting the way enough to see. He dragged a hand along the wall as he forged forwards carefully.

After another half hour the hallway morphed into a lounge area, dim lights buzzing in the corners and books and playing cards strewn across the table surrounded by mismatched chairs draped with mismatched blankets draped over them. Someone was snoring quietly on the couch, wearing one of the garish orange flight suits. When he finally caught the man’s face he almost walked back out the door.

The pilot looked worse than he had bloody and bruised cuffed to that rack. Guilt swirled in the pit of his stomach. All the golden sunlight in the man's skin had faded leaving a grey based white behind. His hair was lank and snarled. The midnight bruises beneath his eyes had circled them completely now.

Untreated cuts littered his skin, some beginning to turn a vicious swollen red and the end of a shiny burn peaked over the collar of his shirt and onto his neck. They were obviously still painful in the way he hissed lowly when his shifting stretched an injury or brought it in contact with his cloths or the couch.

He murmured ceaselessly beneath his breath, brows furrowed and eyes flickering beneath his lids. The agitation was as clear in the Force when Kylo reached out slowly, but the pilot recoiled both physically and mentally with the slightest whimper. "Please don't," he breathed, curling tighter into himself. Instead he reached out to place a large hand against the man's shoulder, intending to shake him awake. Before he could, the pilot shot awake, eyes wide and wet as he shoved Kylo away with all his strength.

He hissed when one hand shoved half over the blaster scar on his stomach. He didn't stumble, but took a step back slowly and carefully as Poe stared at him without blinking. It took a moment to categorize the expression on the older man's face. It fell somewhere between desperate fear and hopeless resignation. Eventually his expression turned simply exhausted and his tense shoulders slumped, but he never blinked or looked away from the looming Force user. He took another step back, hissing as his wound stretched and throbbed. 

Poe's eyes grew wide again, filled with the sort of benevolent worry that Kylo Ren had rarely seen, and never since he abandoned his life to join the first order. "I'm sorry. So sorry." He reached out with a trembling hand. "Let me see?" Kylo said nothing but took one long step forward until he was just within reach. 

Icy hands brushed shakily over his hand where it clutched his side before firmly shoving the appendage aside and pushing his shirt up. Even in the half light the burn was a stark contrast to his light skin. Blacked around the edges and shiny in the center it was just this side of infection and barely healed at all. "You didn't get treated," came the tiny surprised voice before the pilot looked away and released his shirt. Indecision and anger swirled about him like a cloud for a long minute until Kylo began to back away, and then a single mindedness took its place and the man was shooting to his feet. He paled further and swayed for a moment. Then once more his expression steeled and he grabbed Kylo's wrist, careful to only touch his sleeve, and dragged him along.

Matching his steps to the shorter man he let himself be lead down hallways and through doors. He stared around curiously, he had been so focused on remaining undetected before he hadn't had time to enjoy his first steps beyond the basement level. There were no cameras starring down from every corner and no packs of storm troopers conspicuously turning down different hallways the moment they saw him. Actually the base seemed completely empty now. It was just after midnight he reasoned. Yet when the arrived at what appeared to be the pilots destination and the door slid open, light and the soft sounds of machines spilled out.

He blinked in the bright white room, cringing at the pungent smell of chemicals. The single nurse stared at him and he stared back over the pilot's head. "He has a burn that needs treating," Poe drawled lazily, seemingly at ease as he hopped up on a bed to sit and wait.

"So do you, Dameron," she observed wryly.

She smiled kindly at him and Kylo carefully ignored the guilt turning his mouth sour. "May I see?" He lifted his shirt in answer, barring the burn, which he admitted looked even worse in the light. When she reached out he took an unconscious step back.

She looked helplessly at Poe when it happened again. "He's a bit jumpy," Poe grinned lazily and hopped down. "Tell me what to do doc.”

She stared between them for a second before cautiously handing over the sharply alcohol smelling pad, glaring at Poe's bare hands and then her own gloved ones. "You already know my answer, you've been in here enough. Could probably do my job for me by now," she sighed, irritated but affectionate.

They continued to converse idly, his quick questions grabbing her attention when she took too much notice of the violent way his hands trembled. Kylo stood still and silent, staring at a wall and biting his lip to contain the pained noises collecting in his throat. The older man was cautious, forcing his hands steady whenever he touched the wound, but it still stung sharply. Eventually he smeared bacta over it after finally putting a glove on one hand. He just managed to catch Kylo's shirt before it stuck to the goo when the taller made to walk away. "Hey!" The pilot complained, catching the shirt and shoving it back up. He quickly covered it with gauze and wrapped it tight, flinching at the proximity required to wrap it around Kylo's waist. "There, now I'm done," he said grumpily. The younger turned for the door instantly. "You can find your way back, right?"

"Yes," he said lowly, voice rough and disused. By the time he found his way back to clocks had reached 04:38. He didn't see another soul on his entire journey back to his cell, even Luke had long since vanished from his vigil, though he'd left some strange assortment of food on a tray just outside the door. For the first time Kylo ate all the food left, it wasn’t as gross as it looked and fell into and exhausted dreamless sleep.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's a little off kilter, some more than others.

After two full days of self imposed isolation, the bed shoved against the door as though it could stop his uncle the next time the Jedi came calling, he was ill. Surprisingly, and yet not so much, Luke just left food and vanished. Kylo had taken to picking at the wound. Scraping the flat of his thumbnail just enough to catch every ridge. Or using the thinner crest of his index nail to peal back the edges until blood began to rise to the surface. The same nails that were attached to hands that hadn't been washed in a week. He wasn't wholly surprised when the wound chose to forgo the bacta's healing properties and turn redder and puffier than before. Wasn't even surprised when after only two days he brought thick, sluggish pus to the surface instead of blood.

He managed another hour at most, though he couldn't really say, before his skin was icy and greying. A few minutes more and he was heaving bile from his empty stomach onto the floor. The gnawing hunger cramps were replaced with needle like pain the quickly suffused his entire body. He tilted until he hit the ground with a thud, curling into the tightest ball the could manage. The floor was wonderfully cool, numbing.

It took him five deep, rattling breaths before his calm returned, or what passes for calm. A cloud of worry flooded towards him, far out reaching the distressed owner. In a heartbeat the bed slid to the side and the door swung open, carefully stoping before it made contact with his skull. Some parts of the base had some rather archaic doors he noted in a daze. An old door with a new lock, how strange.

A voice dug through the haze, panicked in a way he'd almost forgotten it could be. Luke's bright blue eyes swam into view for a moment before fading back into the whitish haze. "Leave me alone," he tried to growl, but his voice came out nothing more than cracked and dead tired. Sure hands dragged him up slightly, rolling him on his side and resting his head on warm, rough fabric. Neither hand left him, one resting across his forehead and the other at his shoulder stilling him. Someone was speaking, maybe to him, but it was little more than muffled sounds as his awareness tunneled and faded.

—

He woke like a shot, almost careening to the floor in his haste only to be gently tipper back when his legs gave out. Remaining in an undignified heap he slowly prodded at the throbbing burn beside his navel. It was wrapped tightly, and on the bandages was scrawled, "Don't take it off, imbecile."

Luke held up a marker. "I was told to rewrite that every time it's rewrapped." A somber expression greeted him when he finally looked up. "I was also told to relate two messages. First, 'stay off the ground floor next time you go poking around.' And s..."

"Why?"

"He wouldn't say. I surmise it's because he doesn't want to see you again and that's where he works."

"Oh." The tiny ping of disappointment was swatted away in a moment.

"The second thing was, 'if you're going to be an idiot fine, but don't waste our medical supplies doing it,'" he quoted with a half smile. "He was fairly irate about it, even wrote you that reminder." Then at the tail end he added nonchalantly, "and Han was here."

"Why?" Kylo snapped, voice unconsciously cool and sharp.

"Because he was worried. He stayed until they were sure you'd be fine."

"Seems he can only find the time to see me when I'm unconscious."

"Rather he's convinced you don't want to see him, that you need space. I tried to explain that he was being thick, but he's stubborn, as you know."

He tried desperately to dampen the demanding tones laced through his voice. "Could you...try talking to him again?"

"Of course." Then more seriously, "The healer left when you started to wake, but she'll have to come back and check you over."

"Alright," he shrugged.

"Don't start throwing things everywhere this time."

"What?"

"You lost control for a moment, broke her datapad in half."

Icy disbelief trickled through his veins. "Even children don't loose control like that." He framed it as an accusation, as though Luke's, somewhat shortened, training had let it happen.

"Well then it's a good thing you're not a child, Kylo," Luke shot back. The more seriously he added, "Children don't have that much power to control. I would suggest meditation if I thought you'd listen."

"I listen, I just ignore the advice."

"Maybe you are a child, I guess my eyes deceive me when they show me a grown man." With those parting words Luke stood stiffly from his crouch and drifted out the door. Kylo couldn't help the way he clung to him old master's presence until the man grew too far and his strength failed him again. Tears almost threatened, bubbling up from the weakness, the helplessness settling inside.

—

People came and went after that. First Rey asking how he was. Adamant that she was just a messenger and couldn't care less. 

Then Leia drifted about outside the door for a while, her emotions so strong and mixed that he shut them out after a minute. She didn't come in.

Third came the healer, a small woman with more grey hair than wrinkles. Luke stood silently in the door, assurance of something Kylo didn't care to place. When she left he followed. Kylo finally reached out into the Force again, just in time to catch that Luke was unguarded, before the other was too far away again.

Han came after, perhaps even his least nervous visitor. He sat in the now slightly twisted chair and they spoke. Clipped sentences about things so trivial that Kylo couldn't remember a single one. What he did remember was how much older his father looked, white haired and posture beginning to curve. But his voice hadn't changed, still strong and, at moments, a bit condescending. He left with an inch of a smile, easily grasping Kylo's shoulder tight in farewell.

The conversation left Kylo more exhausted than any injury or infection or training ever had, so he curled up an slept. This time when his dreams had him standing on that narrow walkway with the silent metal of his lightsaber in his hands, he wouldn't run his father through. He wouldn't even turn it on and scorch Han's side. Instead he would let it go, he decided. Surrender.

—

Rey, Finn, and Poe weren't inseparable per say, but they were most often together when they weren't alone. They sat together while the apprentice meditated, the men’s voices mingling in a low hum as they talked, and not distracting in the least. They stood yards apart, waiting patiently as Finn staggered back and forth between them, like a child learning to walk, and always ready to grab him if he stumbled. Rey lounged around the hanger, always in sight, watching and listening curiously as Poe tried to explain some of the lesser ships’ mechanics to the darker man.

It had been very different at first, Rey hadn’t liked the pilot much, highly disproving of his sarcastic pointed interjections and his decidedly probing questions about the Force. Finn on the other hand practically hung on his every word as he showed them around the base. Eventually, Finn told her about their escape from the star destroyer and how the older man had been the one to name him. Suddenly she began to notice how BB-8 followed the pilot around constantly. So that’s who he was looking for.

She couldn’t ignore the pure loyalty though. When some of the more…simpleminded people called Finn a traitor or a clone or any number of other things, Poe more often than not beat her to the younger’s defense. She didn’t mind, verbal beatdowns weren't really her area though Poe appeared to have a limitless vocabulary of swears and insults to draw on. He didn’t bother with authority, though she was certain he had it in spades considering he practically commanded their fighter force. Instead his quick tongue and unflinching attitude left many would-be trouble makers red-faced and fuming. Sometimes she wondered if he enjoyed the confrontations, like some sort of play-fighting.

On the other hand Finn couldn’t have been more obvious with his infatuation, never missing a single word when the pilot spoke. He had asked about some of the swears and other strange sounding words only to be bluntly told that they were need-to-know. Later he asked one of the other pilots, Jessika, who had outright laughed at his terrible pronunciation. “He’s right, there’s no point degrading your vocabulary to his standards. He knows swears in more languages than he speaks, and certainly more than anyone else.”

After that she gravitated to their table during lunch, though Poe rarely appeared, always busy, always on the move. Eventually their conversations devolved into long, colourful descriptions of battles Jessika had seen. The were both enraptured, though Rey barely showed it. She was equally thralled by the description of their escape from Jakku on the stolen and somewhat broken Millennium Falcon. Slowly other pilots had orbited in as well, each introduced by their name and their ship specialty.

After a week Poe finally showed up, before Jessika or any of the others had joined them. Like a giant flashing warning sign his frazzled, half-dead appearance and the stoney scowl kept them all away. He wasn’t wearing any of the standard uniforms, instead draped in a baggy grey t-shirt and black pants. His shoes had been forgotten Rey noted. Immediately Finn lit up with concern, shoving his tray across the table. “You look horrible,” she pointed out.

He looked up. “How tactful.” Then the grumpy sarcasm drained replaced by exhaustion. “I’ve been ridiculously busy. First Skywalker’s damned x-wing, up and explodes. We’ll be finding pieces of the engine for months. It’s a wonder no one got hurt, and I bloody well warned him it would happen.” He finally drew a breath, visibly seething. “Then that twerp, Ren, pops up, shot and bleeding. Apparently from Starkiller Base, which is still a dumb-ass name. I had to walk him to the medical section like some little kid. Then he picks at his wounds and gives himself a god damn infection. Still a damn child.” He cut his tirade off with a gasp and slammed his forehead down on the table.

“Are you alright?” Finn asks cautiously, but Poe only turns his head on the table so he can smile at them both.

“I will be.” After that they don’t talk much. Rey manages to hold her questions about the Sith apparently wandering freely all over the place. She would find someone else to harass about that. Poe got through the two chunks of bluish fruit on Finn’s tray before pushing it back. Rey silently offers her matching chunks which he ate one of slowly before giving up, looking a little green. At some point he stands slowly and slouches back out of the mess area. At a table a ways away a few pilots stare at them worriedly, but Rey only shrugs.

“What should we do?” Finn asks. “He says he’ll be fine, keeps saying it, but he looks worse every day. I look healthier and I’m in a wheelchair.”

She smiles slightly at the halfhearted joke. “I don’t know.” Everything about their meal is somber after that. A minute later a short message appeared on her datapad. Could you ask Luke how that bastard is doing? As it turned out she had to ask Ren herself, Luke having gone AWOL. It wasn’t quite the horrendous experience she suspected, he was rather civil, if not a little clipped.

—

Unlike Kylo’s vivid dreams, Poe’s are a mess. A patchwork of fire and pain and anger. Some are memories. The feeling of tumbling, burning hot through the atmosphere in a fractured TIE fighter. Some are things that never came. Watching blinding orange beams arch across the sky towards D’Qar. Others were so blurred the could have been either. Screaming through the comlink and numbness in every limb. He can’t quite place this crash, if that’s even what it is.

When he blinks his eyes open he can feel the crusts around them cracking, thick and sluggish. Maybe it’s another hint from his body that he’s sleep deprived. All his thoughts are muddled, like when that monster in the mask had wrenched free of his mind after he gave up BB-8, a second from unconsciousness and blind with the pain ricocheting around his skull. This wasn’t as bad, or maybe it was worse. He wasn’t sure, hadn’t been in weeks.

When he stood he had to use the wall to drag himself to the refresher. The water was cold, but his already ice cold skin and shivering limbs couldn’t tell the difference. If he passed out under the water, and came too after the shower shut off, he wouldn’t admit it. Probably about time to seek out some sleeping medication, he decided. So he pulled on the same t-shirt and found clean sweats in the pile at the foot of his bed. Still shoeless he ventured down the dark halls. It was still an hour shy of sunrise, and very few people wandered the halls, those that did gave him a wide birth.

The single night-shift healer was easy enough to avoid as he skimmed through the vials and bottles, repeatedly forcing his blurry eyes to focus. He chose a milder sedative, he could always double dose if it didn’t work, and avoided the healer once more as he wandered back to his room. One pill left him curled in a thick haze for hours, but every time he closed his eyes the nightmares slunk back. After the dosage time had elapsed he took two. Thirty minutes later he was restlessly asleep only to wake up barely and hour after that, violently ill.

He scrambled to the bathroom before puking everything he had managed to eat in the last day. Slumped against the cold wall with the shower’s icy flow cascading over him once more, he read the bottle slowly and carefully, rereading when the words jumbled together. Maximum dose: 2. He sighed. The bottle arched graceful and high ad missed the trash can by half a meter. “Useless,” he muttered, closing his eyes under the spray. This time he could vaguely pinpoint when the water turned off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made an attempt to edit this time, hopefully that made it better. IDK.  
> Ciao.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions running high everywhere.

No one was surprised when Poe finally snapped, swearing at the x-wing he was trying to salvage from. He ordered a couple nearby droids to have the thing hauled away, preferably somewhere it wouldn’t surface again, and vanished. The door to his room stood wide, clearly showing that the tiny space was empty. His x-wing stood silent behind all the rest, dragged into storage barely a week after they returned from battle.

When he had been required to do a psychological evaluation after all hell had died down he had looked up at the general with a serious expression. “Don’t bother, I won’t pass.” After that he hadn’t flown anything, by choice rather than by order. Sometimes he had days of pure clarity, where no worry nagged him, and apart from his appearance he was indistinguishable from the man he was before. Other days he actively avoided every life form, even his puppy-like droid, on occasion.

It was BB-8 who first notice when the pilot didn’t reappear when the sun set. Leia started when the sphere bumped her leg as she stood, perusing maps. R2D2 trailed behind, beeping just as worriedly. She listened with increasing worry as the two explained that her best pilot, a friend, was gone. They had systematically checked the entire base, starting at the landing field and working down. Neither had found any recent signs of him. “We can’t find anything at night, I’ll send out a scouting party in the morning.” The orange droid whirred uneasily. “He’ll be fine,” she assured kindly. “He’s been through worse.”

In the end the search party was cut short when he stumbled back as the first blue began to seep into the sky. Both droids had planted themselves just beyond the hanger doors, watching the trees carefully for any movement. They saw him instantly, BB-8 rolling swiftly across the tarmac, beeping loudly until Poe finally looked up. With a slight grin he dropped to kneel in front of the droid, wrapping his arms tight around the cool, thrumming metal. “Sorry buddy, I didn’t mean to be gone so long. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

After chirping his worry and scanning the man up and down carefully, R2D2 rattled off to tell the General he had returned. Poe smiled thankfully, he wasn’t sure he could face her right then, though he knew she deserved an explanation. She never asked, only sent a request that he tell at least one person when he decided to vanish. Her request soon became unnecessary when Rey and Finn took it upon themselves to keep him company for every waking moment and BB-8, sometimes with R2D2, stationed himself outside the door al night. Poe would have let the droid in, eased some of it’s worry if he hadn’t been certain he’d wake up delirious from nightmares and sick with starvation.

While the constant vigilance seemed to calm their nerves it made his frazzle nearly beyond repair, though he hid it well. One by one tics developed, one in his eye and then another in his neck. He surprised even himself by surviving nearly a weak feeling like a caged animal, there to be looked at with pity.

He stared at the ceiling all night. The first night without a single second of sleep. He wasn’t thinking, merely staring at the ceiling in a state of near-catatonia. The clock blinked a bright 16:00 at him. Rey or Finn or both would be at his door soon, demanding he go to dinner with them after promising to let him sleep late, but for once his friends were the absolute last faces he wanted to see. The door hissed open to reveal a startled BB-8 positioned right outside. The droid turned its head to stare with its single baleful eye.

His knees cracked audibly when he knelt so they were nearly at eye level. “I’m not going to vanish again, I just need some time to myself, okay buddy?” The droid chirped an affirmative. “Tell Rey and Finn for me. I’ll see them at breakfast tomorrow.” It’s head swiveled to follow him as he wobbled away down the hall. He had opted for sweats, head to toe, and old worn boots that were all but silent over socks filled with holes. Aware that his appearance was an all new low he deftly avoided people, picking less used hallways and using stairs rather than lifts.

Even the longest deserted route he could manage found him in the detention area at half passed nineteen. Shaking the weakness out of his limbs as best he could he walked fairly steadily until he reached the dark figure slumped in a chair against the wall, feet propped up on a second, rather mutilated chair. Kylo Ren looked up with cold eyes and a hard expression and Poe regretted his decision almost instantly. In a fairly unusual moment he turned on his heal and made to walk away. “You came all the way here, don’t you have something to say? Or should I talk first?” Poe froze completely, not even breathing. “Sorry, that was cruel,” Ren finally broke the silence, voice cool, but tinged with regret.

It was too late to blink away the tears trickling over his face so he just kept his back turned, fishing for a witty comeback, or anything to say, only to come up silent. Then unbidden, “I wish you’d just killed me when you got what you wanted.” That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but it just felt so honest, he didn’t bother making an attempt to rescind the words.

—

If there was one visitor Kylo Ren hadn’t expected, it was the pilot he had tortured, and who’d actively spent the last two weeks avoiding him. He’d only met the other twice in the two months he’d spent on the base, sometimes wandering and sometimes ruminating. Even so he could clearly see the other was barely a shadow of himself, ready to keel over, ready to surrender. He stared levelly, watching as whatever courage, whatever resolve, had brought the pilot all the way there, shattered so easily and the man turned away.

“You came all the way here, don’t you have something to say?” he raised his voice to be heard clearly, words clean cut and forceful. It was a confrontation of sorts, different from their first meeting, and in some small ways exactly the same, and he vividly remembered what the pilot had said then. “Or should I talk first?” If the burst of sheer panic he picked up was any indication, that had been the absolute wrong thing to say. “Sorry, that was cruel,” he acquiesced.

When the silence persisted, he shoved himself up with a low sigh. Maybe his approach was a bit to quiet he noted as he stepped up a mere foot from the other’s back. “I wish you’d just killed me when you got what you wanted.” Well, that was the farthest thing from what he’d expected. Maybe swearing or yelling or declarations of hatred, but not the tiny broken statement, more truthful than Kylo was comfortable with. He remembered this man being strong, strong enough that even Kylo’s vicious mining through his brain hadn’t left him a fried, slobbering mess. Instead, less than an hour later, he had very nearly piloted a TIE fighter to freedom through the shower of lasers the Finalizer had sent his way.

“No you don’t,” he stated. Poe made a choked off squeaking sound and spun around, trying to simultaneously back away and ending up sprawled on the floor. Kylo knelt and stared sternly into wide chestnut brown eyes “Then I would have gotten the droid on Takodana and Starkiller Base would still be. Luke would be dead and this entire system would have been blown away with everyone in it.” Those words earned him a confused sort of shocked awe.

“I told you where the map was,” he choked out.

“And so would have anyone else, in your place.”

“Rey didn’t.”

“She isn’t like anyone else.”

“I can’t believe I’m getting a pep talk from Kylo Ren,” he said, hysteria suffusing every word and every twitch of his body. It was a rather odd spectacle, Kylo had to admit, secretly glad no one else was around. He rolled back from his crouch to sit on the floor legs crossed. Poe dragged his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them, digging his fingers into his arms hard enough to bruise. He rested his chin on his knees, looking incredibly small, and in a yet smaller voice asked, “How’s your wound doing?” A moment of nervous silence later, “Rey said she asked and that you said you were fine, but, I mean, you said that before and look what happened. So are you really alright, or are you just saying you’re alright. I don’t know why you’d do that. Maybe so we’d leave you alone. I don’t know, but maybe. Though it coul…”

With the absolute calmest, softest voice he could dredge up, Kylo cut him off. “I’m alright. I’m alright now and I’ll be alright tomorrow and the day after and so on. I’m not lying. Look,” he lifted his shirt to reveal the vicious pink scar tissue, shiny but fresh and clean. He was aware he looked healthy again, having eaten everything, and more, that had been brought to him. Two weeks worth of well rested nights had even all but banished the bags under his eyes. Without regular training he might even have gained a couple pounds though he couldn’t be sure.

He certainly looked more robust than the deathly-looking man in front of him. “Stay,” he commanded, keeping his voice soft. Then he rose and strode back into his cell. A cup sat, still half full, on the last tray that had been brought, by Han this time. He picked it up and returned to the exact same position across from the pilot. He pushed the cup forward with his middle finger, able to stretch until it was easily within the other man’s reach, then settled back. “It’s water,” he assured when the cup only earned a skeptical look. “Plain water.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t need poison if you wanted me dead,” Poe said rather dryly, not quiet encapsulating his usual humour. He continued to stare at it.

“Even if you don’t eat, you need water,” Kylo encouraged, surprised by his own patience.

A slow shaky hand reached out, fingers succeeding in finding a grip on the cup on their second try. It was a good thing it wasn’t full, Kylo mused. “Thanks, Ben,” he muttered awkwardly and took a sip, followed by a gulp, and then chugged the entire thing.

Kylo considered telling him to slow down, but then reasoned that amount of water probably couldn’t make him sick anyway. Instead he said, “I actually stuck with Kylo.”

Another surprised look came his way. “Okay.” That was amazingly well received. “Kylo,” the pilot said curiously, testing the name. “It isn’t so bad without the Ren part,” he offered noncommittally. “I’m glad you’re alright,” and that was shockingly sincere.

Kylo watched him stand in awed silence. Some people he simply didn’t understand. That sort of kindness warranted something he decided. “If you can’t eat you should try fruit juice. Nothing sweet or strong, that’ll probably make you sick, too,” he suggested as he watched the other sway upwards, taking two tries to get his feet beneath him.

They stared at each other, curiously and cautiously, breathing slowly. “What happened to you’re mask?”

Kylo shrugged, but maintained eye contact, passive and open. “I lost it somewhere on Starkiller Base.”

The pilot squared his shoulders, running a brisk hand through matted curls, sporting a mix of tiny twigs. “Good.” A simple answer floating somewhere between truth and diversion. He didn’t stand until he was certain the other man was long gone. Stretching made a slew of vertebra in his back pop and then his shoulders. Real exercise would be nice, he mused. Maybe Luke or Rey would entertain him…probably not. Instead he walked steadily around the cellblocks and unused rooms, weaving through corridors he had memorized, and ignoring the feeling of being a mouse in an endless labyrinth.

—

Finn cried when they took the wheelchair away. He watched it vanish deeper into the medical rooms. He’d been walking without it for a few days, but it ever hovered at his periphery, a reassurance as Rey or Poe wheeled it along. “You healed faster than we expected. Better, too.” His lip quivered and Rey pressed closer to his side, openly offering the closeness she often seemed agitated by. She’d even socked one pilot when the man tried to clap her on the shoulder in congratulations. Poe had smoothed it over with amused words and the pilot apologized and fled. Then she had grabbed Finn’s hand under the table the moment they sat down to eat.

“Where is…,” he began to ask, but Poe’s sudden appearance surprised him.

The man was breathless and shaky, flushed and slightly sweaty as he swayed in the doorway. “Sorry, I just heard.” Then he hopped up on the bed beside Finn, pressing against his other side and radiating heat as he struggled to calm his breathing.

“You missed dinner,” Rey said sternly, irritation plain to hear.

“Sorry,” he sighed, dropping his chin to his chest. “I just needed to think, didn’t BB-8 tell you?”

“He did,” she admitted after a moment, but quickly latched back on to her lecture, “but you should have told us yourself.”

Trembling white fingers rubbed over his face, scratching audibly over his stubble. “I couldn’t Rey, I’m sorry. You can message me though,” he said dark eyes as open an earnest as they had ever seen, “I’ll always answer, both of you.” Then his gazed fixed on Finn. “Good news?” he asked, voice hopeful.

“Yeah, apart from some scarring, I’m going to be completely fine.” He tried to say more, but his throat was thick and only a slight choked hum worked free.

In a blink Poe had curled both his arms around them, pulling Rey tighter so he could interlace his fingers over her shoulder. She didn’t snap or push him away, only mirrored his worried expression, staring up at Finn. One finger trailed across his cheek, collecting a fleck of water, and it vaguely registered that the gurgling sobbing was his own. He wrapped an arm around them each, and pulled them as tight as he could until each one had to sling a leg over one of his to stop from being knocked to the floor.

It made the hug less awkward, one of Poe’s hands coming to rest against his nape, slowly brushing up and down. Rey’s hand came to rest an inch lower, still and calm. He buried his head in Poe’s throat and Rey pressed her face into the opening it left along his neck. They must have been a spectacle, tangled together so tight, their limbs were indistinguishable. Poe’s breathing was jumpy and his tears fell wet and hot against Finn’s scalp. Rey’s tears slid down his neck to his shirt as she rocked slightly, the other two swaying with her.

“Somehow it it feels more like winning now than when we destroyed Starkiller,” Rey muttered. Her words made his shoulder’s shake harder, and he clung tighter, letting neither leave, not that they tried, until they faded into a half sleep and the healer came back to kindly usher them towards the door, pointing at the clock. If they still clung to each other down the hallways and tumbled into Finn’s bed in a pile, no one would say, looking carefully the other way to offer some false sense of privacy in the cramped base.

—

Once he finally found the words to ask Luke to spar, the other did so readily, perhaps with a hint of glee. He wasn’t strong or fast, and Kylo could easily bear down on him. If Kylo had been inexperienced he might have seen an advantage in the way the grizzly Jedi gave step after step, careful never to back into a wall, but always conceding. But Kylo knew better.

Green ever separated them, never forced aside by the red glow of his own lightsaber. Luke was waiting, for a misstep or a slip in his guard or anything really. There was one advantage he pressed. With his strength returning, he was certain he could outlast the old man. With a grin he said as much, earning a flippant retort. He quickly noted the slight breathless quality in the other’s voice.

He wasn’t particularly surprised when Luke suddenly shifted his stance closer and attacked, but he still stumbled. Every blow was met with the sizzle of light on light, but he didn’t compensate in his posture and center of mass, tipping back onto the floor at the fifth clash. Luke summoned his lightsaber with the barest twitch of his finger, reactivating the blade and staring curiously. He examined the trident handle before freeing the other two beams. “Very clever,” was his only comment before he hooked it on his belt beside his own.

“Why did you give it to me?” he asked, trying to keep the pleading out of his voice. He had to know. Why did they give him such freedom, such benefit, when they clearly feared what he’d do with it?

“It isn’t about trusting you,” Luke sighed. He ran a rough hand over his face and then rubbed over he skin a tad harshly. His eyes flickered about as he searched for a way to put his thoughts into words. “With Vader, my father,” he amended, “it was so different. Obi-Wan kept saying how he used to be good, but I’d only ever known him to be a monster. Just a presence in the force so angry that his clam seemed impossible. That was all he was, a mask and sharp emotions, focused, but not on any particular thing. When I sensed the desire it wasn’t what I expected. He didn’t just want a Jedi to join him, he wanted me to join him. So I clung to a blind hope, because I had no other chance. I guess it worked out, he cared more than I thought.”

“But with you it isn’t a monster with a chance of proving to have a soul. I knew you before, we all did, and we know you were good. Some of us want that boy back, Ben Solo, the one who was so curious and daring. Some of us just want you back, Kylo Ren or Ben Solo, we couldn’t care less. Do something for me?” he requested. Two steps brought him directly into Kylo’s eye line even as he stared at the floor. He stared with a curious expression as tranquil as a lake in the still summer air and as devastating as a winter sea. Kylo didn’t like that look he decided, it rent a little to deep. “Figure out why, when you could have any name, you chose to stay Kylo Ren. You don’t need to tell me, just understand.”

That was a curious question, one Kylo had no answer for, couldn’t even begin to formulate one. “I’ll consider it,” he conceded, voice frosty and detached. He wouldn’t. Sensing he was unwanted, Luke drifted away from the empty, musty room they had chosen as their impromptu sparing ground. His long fingers itched for the thrumming warmth of his lightsaber once more, it’s feel renewed in him mind. The walls, the door, even the tech about the walls, called for destruction, and he wanted nothing more than to slash it all to pieces. To shred and sever until his arms hung limp with exhaustion. He wanted to leave glowing molten lines everywhere, a latticework of lacerations dripping orange sparks.

Instead he dug viciously into the force, carelessly smashing absolutely everything. Debris littered the floor in a halo about his feet by the time his exhausted grip loosened and the force flowed away, a swirling vortex, whispering viciously as it circled. It was brutal where he touched it, poisoned it. When his legs grew weak he sat hunched on the floor, letting it beat down on him. “I kept the name because I’m still a monster,” he muttered. “Everything I touch rots.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything's gonna get a bit darker from here.  
> Someday I'll edit *sigh*


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe receives a mission. Kylo has a crisis.

When the call finally came to jump back into the frey, Poe accepted it hesitantly. “I’m not reliable right now. I don’t want to put anyone else at risk, because I start flying again.” If only that was the real reason. Leia stared back with the kindest eyes. He wanted to tell her he was scared witless, that’s he’d rather curl up in a ball and cry than delve back into space. Instead he said, “But if you need me, I’ll do it.”

“I don’t need you to fight, I need you to cary a message.”

That caught his attention. Curiously he catalogued everyone else in the room. Only her most trusted, he noted. Luke and Han stood side by side before the shimmering table, staring intently at the map. Chewie and R2D2 stood back a little, but otherwise the room was surprisingly vacant. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing recently,” Han said dryly. He seemed irate about being grounded, but the Falcon was in worse disrepair than usual. If there was another reason, or perhaps three, that he stayed he wouldn’t say.

“We need to know how much, if any, of the New Republic survived that hateful thing. I know where their outposts are, but we can’t suddenly send scouts out across the cosmos without attracting attention.”

She looked up at him imploringly, and Poe practically wilted. “Whatever you need,” he said far more certainly then he felt. “How many are there?”

“Five. Two in the outer rim, galactic east, and one in the western reaches and two in the inner rim, galactic north.” She glanced at her husband cautiously. “Han can search the two outer rim worlds, but he’s too recognizable to be wandering around the inner rim.”

Luke spoke up after a moment, “I doubt anyone would recognize me, I’m too old, but I shouldn’t venture too close to Snoke or any of his apprentices.” His face turned troubled. “With the New Republic in shambles, so many people missing or in hiding, the First Order’s bled far beyond the unknown regions.”

“They took back Coruscaunt?”

“That implies they ever lost it. There was always too much of the Empire there, there still is.” She rubbed a tired hand over her eyes. “The people thought they had driven all that away, but they hadn’t. In a place with so many people, you can’t escape corruption. The First Order isn’t so blatant, but their influence has been growing across a lot of planets in the core and the colonies. I mean, even Takadonna, had at least one of their spies. It’s safe to assume every single reasonably developed planet has one.” She met his eyes, “You’ll definitely encounter them, I’m certain, but while your name might be recognized, you won’t be. You’re the best, one of maybe a half dozen who can escape those blasted ships.”

“I’ll do it.” Never a doubt.

“You’re sure?”

“Always,” he nodded. Then with a rye smile added, “maybe it’ll do me some good to get out there again.” He was certain it would do the opposite.

“You’ll have a T-65.”

He looked at her curiously.

“T-70s are pretty much our trademark, but we haven’t used T-65s in years. It’s either this, or an A-wing, that’s all we have right now.”

He shook his head fiercely, “The T-65s fine.”

“Most markings have been erased and its skin is damaged, it should pass as a salvage, something that could have crashed.”

“Did it?”

“Yes.”

“Will it again?”

“Only if you get shot, commander.” She smiled warmly. “You won’t.”

He wondered if she realized that unnerved rather than comforted him. Judging by the pitying look on his face, her brother was more aware. “I guess I’ll trust your judgment, general.”

“At least you’ll be safer than in his scrap heap,” she jabbed a thumb at Han.

“It’s the best you’ll ever fly,” Han said certainly before easily falling to her baiting words.

They seemed to enjoy their bickering a lot, he noted as he turned his attention to the map, picking out the planets, pulsing green among the vast blue galaxy. Hosnian Prime hovered, a vicious red, in its usual place. Most maps had been updated already.

Pulling up a chair he perused the map long after the others had vanished, plotting routes and memorizing places to avoid. He copied sections of the map to add to his new ship’s navigational charts and sat back. No matter where he went, there were hundreds of systems at every turn, each as dangerous as the last. He preferred the vast emptiness of the outer rim, The way you could turn a ship to the white, throbbing heart of the galaxy or away to the near black expanse of the universe beyond, speckled with the few bright stars in the Wild Space.

—

Kylo was snooping, he admitted, and he’d been doing it for a while. When his usual visitors had grown distracted, their visits lessening, he had taken careful notice. Something was happening, and for once, he wasn’t the cause. After two days his curiosity had him spying. C3PO, ever the chatterbox, had been a wealth of information on their secretive behavior and their off-record meetings, however he had no idea what it was they were discussing. That was clever of his mother, Kylo acknowledged, no doubt the droid would have told anyone who asked.

Still the location was more than enough, he tracked down the room in question, noting how it fell in a more deserted area, they were certainly up to something. Neither Han nor Leia were there, through he could just sense Luke a ways away, but the older man seemed distracted. The only person in the room was the pilot, staring glassy eyed at projection of the galaxy. His eyes quickly picked out the highlighted planets. He took a step closer to read their names, but the other man jerked alert and shut of the projection before he could read anything. “You shouldn’t be here,” Poe said, startled.

“Would you believe me if I said I was lost? Again,” his voice was calm.

“Yeah,” the other sighed. That wasn’t the response he suspected. “Where are you trying to get to?”

“Somewhere interesting, it’s a bit dull in the basement,” he joked sardonically.

Dark eyes blinked up at him skeptically, “Most people don’t complain. Then again, most people don’t get to leave as they please, it is supposed to be prison after all.”

“It certainly has the atmosphere of one.”

“You obviously haven’t been in many prisons then.”

“No.” He could see the subtle way the other angled himself away and returned his attention to the blank table. “Can I see the ships? I’ve always wondered.” On the surface he exuded curiosity, but underneath he was carefully cataloguing everything. Knowing where to find transport could be important.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. You’ll like them.” He stood with a groan and shepherded Kylo out the door, carefully blocking the lock from view as he typed in the code to seal the door. For just a moment he relaxed, tension bleeding away as he turned away from the room, and Kylo caught a whisper of a thought where he was skimming the surface of the pilot’s thoughts. Searching for survivors. Survivors of what? The thought faded as Poe was distracted with his own explanations, dripping with adoration as he described some of their ships in grand detail. Kylo was fairly certain he’d be underwhelmed. “We’ve got all kinds, really,” Poe concluded, and then with a sigh added, “but a lot of them are badly damaged, most grounded indefinitely.”

“War leaves graveyards of ships in it’s wake,” Kylo acknowledged. “They’re expendable, because they’re made so fast. New replacing old.”

“It doesn’t matter if they can’t fly again, all these ships brought their pilots back alive, that all we can ask of them.” That was surprisingly morose, something equally depressing must be weighing on the other man’s mind, something about death. There had been one planet in red he recalled, something familiar about the position, though he couldn’t place it. Shaking he thoughts away he trailed after the pilot, ignoring the few curious glances sent his way, as he listened to the other talk. He eventually turned from standard ships to starfighters to which ones were better and why. After the third time the man looked at him nervously, unsure if he should keep talking, Kylo admitted his own knowledge of fighters and was immediately dragged into an easy conversation.

The other man was so invested in his explanations that it truly caught Kylo off guard when he suddenly stopped and turned around. Kylo just caught himself before they collided, his hand hovering between them. He glared for a moment, but Poe ignored him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What?” he spluttered, flabbergasted.

“You’ve been angry, glaring all the time, not at me, just glaring.”

“It’s just something Luke said.” He attempted to clear his expression. “He’s a bit…he likes to pry.”

“I don’t really know him well, but prying doesn’t seem like his shtick. Most of the time he turns being obtuse into an art form.” Accurate or not, the statement made Kylo laugh, a single sound before he clenched his jaw against any more. “See, you can laugh…sort of. Rey owes me twenty credits.”

Before Kylo could come up with a sufficiently scathing retort, the pilot bounced away, already detailing the different sections of the hanger. They started with the smaller aqueous vehicles and ended with the larger transports. Poe strategically avoided the starfighters with the simple explanation, “I assumed you didn’t want to interact with anyone, if you’re with me they’ll stick to you like octopi.”

“I’m still First Order,” Kylo added cynically.

“Are you?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead walked on with an offhand, “I’d have said because you’re were a monster and murderer.” He seemed to realize his mistake, but it was too late. Long pale fingers caught him around the back of his neck, and dragged Poe to slam against one of the ships. He let out a low whine and closed his eyes against the swirling lights. He was fairly certain he would have been flat on his face if the sith’s hand wasn’t holding him still. “Don’t,” he tried to snap, but the word came out slurred and a little pleading.

“I’ve done worse than murder, but you had a taste of that. After we had the droid and the map, did you ever wonder what would happen to you? I would have dug through your mind until there was nothing left, would have waited for you to come round each time you passed out, until I had every scrap of information I could find, useful or not. After that you’re fate would have left my hands, probably fallen to Hux. Where I prefer to break minds, he like breaking spirits. If you lived that long, you would have watched D’Qar be blown away, along with everyone on it.”

“Still, maybe you wouldn’t have survived that long, maybe you would have been an empty shell, your mind destroyed. It probably would have felt a little like this.” Then he pushed forward, coating the fuzzy mind like tar. Kylo felt the moment the other’s alertness returned, just before he could dig deeper. It was the same resistance as before, thinking of endless waves on a shore or the cloudy blue of hyperspace trickling by. Yet this time his attempts were transparent, all he had to do was ask, what survivors? but he couldn’t show his hand. He was about to pull back when a thread of thought reached him. They were searching for remnants of the New Republic, of course.

He jerked back violently, staring at the tearstained face. Sweat was beginning to bead at the other’s temples and his eyes were barely open. “And I’m still a monster. Though, personally, I think you need a stronger word.” When he released the pilot, Poe sank awkwardly to the floor with a thud. He knelt down, grabbing a fistful of hair and twisting until they were face to face. “Your nightmares are getting worse. Does it make you afraid to sleep?” His words earned him a surprisingly forceful shove. They glared in silence until Poe dragged himself up unsteadily and walked away.

—

He had expected Rey to show up at his door, livid and with every intent to kill him. Instead it was the stoormtrooper, though he certainly fit the rest of the description. “What do you wan’t?” Kylo questioned, imbuing his voice with every once of boredom he could find. The dark skinned man almost snatched his collar, probably wanted to shake him until his neck snapped. Instead he dropped his hands to his sides in tight fists. “I really thought it’d be your girlfriend.”

“Rey doesn’t know.”

Now that was surprising. “Too bad, I would have looked forward to that fight, with you it just wouldn’t be fare.” He grinned spitefully. “How’s your back? Still agonizing?”

“I promised Poe I wouldn’t tell her,” he growled through gritted teeth.

“Of course, always doing as your told.”

A vein throbbed in his head. “Except when I betrayed the First Order and ruined all your plans.”

That was an incredibly levelheaded response. “You’re terrified of me but you’re still here. Do you really care that much?”

“I’m not like you.”

“Obviously. You can’t feel it. Even that pilot’s more force sensitive than you, you who are little better than a clone. It must frustrate her, that you can’t understand.” He tilted his head, finally rising from his bed and staring the other man down. He liked being tall, the way it allowed his a certain sense of effortless superiority. Hux had been tall and he’d never liked it. Always having to stare evenly into the man’s ice blue eyes.

Finn wasn’t intimidating at all, not in the least. He scratched over his short wiry hair nervously. “Just leave him alone.”

Kylo stared blankly and said nothing. He took a breath to offer a threat, maybe something frosty and mysterious or something scorching and violent. The thought really held no appeal, he already knew exactly the response he would receive, fear overridden by concern and followed closely with anger. Ever a soldier. Instead he smiled slightly, “For now.” The smile was forced and twisted, as vague and non-assuring as his words. It seemed enough, or maybe the Finn realized he wouldn’t get anything better.

“He left, you can’t hurt him now.” There was triumph in those words. If only Finn had known how Kylo would catalogue the information for further use, he might have said nothing. He continuously glanced back over his shoulder as he walked away, obviously uncomfortable with having his back to danger. He glared when Kylo made eye contact supplemented with a little shooing motion. If he’d known the half-formed plan swirling about Kylo’s brain, Kylo was certain there would have been a blaster bolt aimed right between his eyes with the blaster the Stormtrooper had tucked away. Not that it would have done a thing.

—

Sitting in pitch black and thinking, wasn’t foreign to Kylo Ren. It wasn’t nearly the meditation he had been taught, he rarely pretended it was, but as a rule it had always been calm, though not calming. It was the moments in the lulls of battle when his mind was tired, but his body still shook with power. In those moments he had sprawled out over whatever semi-comfortable furniture he could find, and completely ignored Hux’s demands for his presence. As much as he hated the man, he could admit the other’s competence. Hux didn’t really need him to plan wars. Once it was power play between the general and he, demanding and ordering then humiliating and ignoring respectively. Eventually it had been routine. They both liked undermining one and other too much for their interaction to be productive, so it wasn’t really encouraged.

Still it had never been as black as this, there had always been at least one star winking through a window to remind him he wasn’t alone. In the resistance base the old halogen lights always buzzed in the hallway, dimming and brightening on some automatic schedule. Now the lights along the entire corridor swung listlessly, their momentum gradually fading. He had been careful to snap every wire, leaving them silent and cooling. Finally blessed with absolute dark, he intended to gloat with the kind of satisfaction only success offered. Instead he had to keep consciously relaxing his frown and unclenching his fingers.

He couldn’t enjoy the adrenaline like this. Instead of making his heart race like the purest drugs it settled as tension low in his stomach and made him feel queazy. He wasn’t stupid, still fairly young and proudly emotionally stunted, but not stupid. He could pinpoint the emotions ruining his pleasure, and he dug through the thoughts and memories associated, determined to eliminate them. He was seriously considering destroying something else when the pieces slowly began to fall together. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he felt remorse, or even regret, but he felt extraordinarily guilty. He shouldn’t have hurt…. He cut that thought short, brutally.

This was weakness, its definition and its architect. Guilt had seen his grandfather die. His father and uncle both flee. Himself fail his orders and become a prisoner. His eye opened. So many people had died, what would a few million more matter. With the complete end of the New Republic he could have his life back, stop living confined trying to convince people, who would always hate him, that he was worth keeping alive. Unwillingly he admitted these people were a gaping fissure in his control. More readily he admitted they had to die, but with two Jedi standing in his way, his chances were slim. With conviction suffusing and subverting the unbalance of the Force within him, stealing a ship proved simple.

He took an old but well kept craft, more interested in the size and reasonable array of weapons. It sat imposing at the forefront, shadowing other vessels and not easily missed. They would know it was gone the moment the sun rose. He was curious which one would realized his betrayal first. Then he reasoned, betrayal assumed he’d every felt any obligation to them. It rather seemed they owed him. For abandoning him and stealing his life away. For trapping him and trying to take his hard earned freedom. Their deaths would ease his frail emotions, even liberate him. The thought brought a smile, though he ignored how strained it felt.


End file.
